Snow Leopard quiver + quake

03.20.09
Approximately one mile long, the lane towards the Gasconade River that should really be referred to as "The Lane," is punctuated with infinite stops and starts. To the right, a wanderer comes upon the cow feeding pasture where a total of five new calves have been born within my visit. Passing "the Girls" (yes, an emphasis on the G) the Boys (same hard B) are met with wide eyed curiosity. The leader of this posse is "Director." At nearing 2,000 pounds I wouldn't question his dictatorship, no way, no how. Two mares graze in the field along side of the fellows, both chestnuts with a wide white blaze that runs evenly down their muzzles. One raises her head to greet your face and strolls towards the barbed wire to meet you. It's pretty obvious that she has been conditioned to react this way as soon as she sees someone upright on two feet. On my first day passing, and as if on que, she sauntered her way over to what I thought was a warm welcome. Me, not introduced to "the system" (her system) she came to the fence not for me "but the carrot, any carrot would due, or yes, a sugar cube or two, too." Emptied handed, she blinked two sorrowful big eyes towards my direction and sauntered silently away. From then on I always come prepared with something in hand or pocket only to remain in decent standings with the gal. Directly behind the barn is THE tree, a Sycamore. It spreads its branches like an 18th c. anatomical drawing, illustrating all the fissures and neurotransmitters of a finally tuned nervous system. I think of it as The Snow Leopard and although not winter nor any snow around, the tree contrasts so sharply with the blue sky it seems strangely out of place, it might as well be with daffodils blooming alongside. Upon passing it you swear you can hear it quiver and shake.